Infernal Incarnations II: The Taint
by Nick Bodom
Summary: Sequel to Infernal Incarnations. The advocate of darkness, a sentient blade called Tirfing, has landed into wrong hands. And when it's true owner emerges, things couldn't get uglier. Prontera struggles to surmount the taint, if they can even withstand it
1. Synopsis

Synopsis

Former bitter rivals return again, this time back together to stand against a dark artefact that is spreading insanity to whoever touches it. And so it happens that the dark artefact, a dark, twisted sword named Talefing, is under possession of Cerberus's unforgiving brother, Cranius. Being a lord in control of Izlude, a break-off small town off south-east from Prontera, Cranius has turned the once pure town home to the swordsmen into a bastion of horror. Every terror ever imagined began to churn Izlude into a town of nightmare. Corruption, vices, treachery, backstabs, betrayal… knights and swordsmen alike were converted to inhuman minions of Cranius. Cerberus and his companions, Skull, Tien, Mariane and Reka to name some, set out once again in search of ways to permanently expel the taint of the blade. But who knows, they could fall victim to the oppressive darkness in Izlude and become yet another group of additions to Cranius's minions. Only time will tell.

Characters

Cerberus Twinedge

A reputable knight leader of a guild called Avenger, who was hailed as one of the heroes who lead an army of his own to banish the four. He carries two swords in battles, Firebrand and Ice Falchion, and rains fearsome bolts of flame and glacier onto enemies. Always trying to quell the hatred his brother Cranius has for him, he is forced to fight him, a much different and much hostile man than before. Since the sudden appearance of Kera, supposedly Cranius's fiancé, he feels tangled up internally.

Yeven Dekon

A close friend of Cerberus Twinedge, Yeven is an alchemist belonging to the Avenger. Despite dabbling in potions and chemical compounds, he has hidden talent in blacksmithing. He is a unique individual who can mix potions and craft weapons, which nobody else could attain.

Skull

An aloof assassin, he is also a member of Avenger. Like most assassins, he battles his foes with katars, his a customised Infiltrator. People say he is romantically linked with the priestess Mariane, but he showed no hints of it. It is usually because of his bloodlust during fights or pre-fights that lands him in no little trouble. He is also known as Koju, his name in Morrocan.

Sagis

A black-robed wizard belonging to the Avengers. He is mysterious at certain times, but offers his knowledge whenever his companions are caught in a dilemma. Wielding a new-found staff, the Soul Staff, he is well-versed in magic and considered a level more powerful than other older wizards, for some strange reasons. He suspects the necklace of interlocked rings he wore was behind it, but he has yet to prove it. Above all things, he enjoys a cup or two with friends in the inn.

Tien Rockfist 

A hot-headed monk who can crush any foe with his knock-out finisher, Extremity Fist. He used to lead a guild called Overlords, a rival to the Avenger. After the death of his guild members in an impromptu fight in Geffen with the four, he had had hopes to rebuild his past glory, even enlisting the help of Avenger member Pay. He hails from Payon, a village build among forests. He is remembered fondly by Payon villagers for shockingly eliminating a Superior, Moonlight Flower, single-handedly. He is a worthy fighter.

Pay Skysight

A hunter belonging to the Avenger. He carries a bow made by Yeven to him, the Arbalest. He had since left the companions after the battle with the four, returning to his hometown, Payon, to help in the rebuilding and is considering joining the Elite Hunter forces to protect the interests of the village folk. Some of the Avenger members were saying that he was living with Elemire and had plans for marriage.

Mariane Holycross

A pure hearted priestess dedicated to the Prontera grand church and offers her healing powers to the needy. She is a close friend of Reka, a rogue from Morroc. Many are aware of her feelings for Skull, and felt that a pity for her to choose a lowly assassin out of many other better men. Ever since she was muted by Abyss Knight in the final battles, Skull had been taking care of her.

Reka

A rogue hailing from Morroc, a close friend of Mariane. Fights with daggers and has a uncontrollable habit of mugging coins without her victims aware of it. Also known as Zerin in Morrocan.

Elemire

The sole surviving member of Overlords. A huntress who pairs with Avenger hunter Pay.

Cranius Twinedge

Brother of Cerberus Twinedge, a lord of Izlude. Wields the Talefing, a dark sword of filth and corruption. He turns the town into a nightmare with his twisted mind, the work of his sword.

King Tristan III

Emperor of the Capital city of Rune-Midgart, Prontera.

Smith

A warlord of Prontera, also a chief of the Blacksmith department.

Larzen

Late warlord of Prontera, a good friend of Smith.

Jamie Kohlan

Also known as JK. He is brought in by King Tristan III as Smith's new Warlord partner.

Invus

Leader of the Rogue pack at Morroc City.

Murrin

A survivor of the Fiendbanes during the lightning frenzy when the four invaded Prontera.

Bandalek a.k.a Blek

Sagis's mentor when he was young. Mysteriously appears to lure the renegade wizard back to his ruined home.

Bautrum

An innkeeper working at the Night Star inn.

Seihroth

One of the Lesser Superiors dedicated to the darkside, the Mutant Dragonoid. Otherwise known as the true wielder of Tirfing, as the sentient sword claims.

Bache & Crash

Lesser Superiors dedicated to holy causes. They are the Arch Angeling and Angeling respectively.

Razorbeak

One of the Lesser Superiors, the Gryphon. Supposedly works closely with Bache & Crash.


	2. Prologue

Prologue

Tristan moved behind his desk, pulling up the end of his robe that was brushing the floor before taking a seat. His hands sifted through the rolls of parchment uninterestedly and nothing was able to get him into the mood.

He was glad to see Prontera bustling once more since the reconstructions. While he did, the foursome that had caused widespread holocaust still haunted him, sometimes even appearing in his nightmares. Well, that was rather long ago, but he had had nightmares nonetheless. Now it was a harmless looking crystal orb, a glittering, white orb that looked unlikely to bring anything unpleasant. Yet it did.

The interior of the orb had viewings. Viewings of a great many events, which none had made Tristan very happy. First he saw his very own city, Prontera, and the people going on about their lives just like the everyday scene, but that was where the innocence ended. The orb would darken into a deep purple as the viewings led him to a trail of blood leading him east, and then southwards to a sickening pool of human blood with distorted beings standing over it. Whatever he saw, he was not sure of what creatures they were. But none of his thoughts were comforting.

His servants had seen his paleness almost every morning, and even called for acolytes to tend to him. Before he could even utter his first word of refusal, the servants were already on the run to the church. When the acolytes came, usually in pairs, his repeated assurances fell deaf, and they forced checks on him, prescribing doses of red potions and yellow herbs.

Just as he expected, it was not the least useful. The nightmares returned every night, but none of the part he could decipher. Perhaps time will tell.

A peremptory knock on the door snapped him out of his reverie. An average man of muscles and grease slipped in and let the door swung close. The man wore a simple white shirt with black stains of grease, and the sleeves were pushed up all the way to the shoulders.

One glance at him would appraise him a blacksmith, but he was an erstwhile one. He was recognised as the warlord of Prontera, and his efforts to drive the foursome off were not overlooked. Smith hardly wanted anything more than round of beer drinking, but King Tristan the Third had made arrangements to put him as the chief of the blacksmith department in Prontera. And he had more business to run now, both politically and economically. Not to mention his own interests, the Fiendbanes, a shadowy band of deadly fighters that used to be lead by both him and his late warlord partner, Smith.

"You could do with some manners, _warlord_," King Tristan said even before Smith could settle down. "You forgot protocol, and I'm not transparent."

Smith took no umbrage at the sarcasm. Even if he did, there was no visible hint. He ensconced himself on the cushioned, high-backed chair across the king and drank from a random bottle of ale his hands could find. "You're lucky to have acolytes tend to you while you sit back to read papers. We, on the other hand, have business all over us, and we do it in the heat."

King Tristan looked ridiculed at every action he was seeing. _This lad needs some flogging!_

"What is your point, _warlord_?"

"My point is," Smith paused to take a brief swig of the bottle, sighing away as the ale burned his throat. Oddly enough he felt good. "Forget it, King, I have more important news to bring rather than idle talk. I've heard of your dreams, King. There might be a story behind it."

Eyes widening for a brief second, the king of Prontera allowed no delay. The suspense had been kept long enough, and finally there could be some answers today. Answers he knew he would dread, and worse still, bring him nothing but a lack of ample rest. "Speak."

"I could do with being a chief of the blacksmith department. I've more men available besides the Fiendbanes, and those that I deployed had returned to bring fresh news. These rolls of parchment you've been brooding over whether or not they are reliable," Smith said as he encompassed the documents on the desk with a wave of his hand. "I've found the truth."

"Like what you spoke of your dreams to me, the bearings led me to Izlude. Surely enough my men reported unrest and civil war. The people are divided between the defenders and that damned Cranius's minions, and guess what? Most of them do be swordsmen and knights, as I had suspected."

The king knuckled his bushy white beard uneasily. Trains of thought ran through his head like a barrage of arrows, but he could not quite comprehend it all. All the regal and authority was gone, all but displaced by confusion. He looked at Smith and spoke with a dire tone. "Civil war? What could be the impetus to that damned lord's insanity? Things do look different from the way I see it."

"Different as it be, I have no clue just yet. We would have to wait," Smith replied plainly. Finally setting down the bottle of ale, he waited for the king's next sentence, but a knock on the door derailed any further discussions they had hoped to carry out.

A young, lean but tall man strode into the chamber, springing the word 'confident' into their mind. The man wore a thin blue bandanna around his forehead, and bit a romantic leaf at the corner of his mouth. Atop his head was a brown hat with curved, wide rims called a Sweet Gent. Strapped to his back was a guitar made of fine, dark oak. His type of elegance might very well pin-point him a philander.

"Who might be this lad in some weird mix and match? Is that the latest fad? Hah!" Smith mocked openly.

The king leaned forward suddenly, as if remembering something that slipped off his mind. "Oh yes, Smith, let me introduce you your new warlord partner. His name is Jamie Kohlan. And –"

"And ladies call me JK," the man intercepted with a tinge of pride. A little too obvious, it seemed.

Smith stared at the king with mouth agape, then looked at Jamie. Or rather, JK. "Did I hear wrong? Even without Larzen I could do things the same, let alone some skinny gigolo who tries to make a stupid fashion statement and mess my life."

It was Jamie's turn to stare at the warlord. "Excuse me? I am nothing of what you say that I am, but I tell you now I am a bard! A fine, if not better looking, bard. I'm not sure about you but you look as green as a Poporing because I have my ways with girls and no one bothers to make a second glance at you?" With that said the bard let out a long laugh that had him choking with tears. He still had not realised that it was a big mistake. Jamie felt a weight lifted off his back and before he could even twist his head around to look –_SMASH!_

A splintered guitar sat atop the bard's head, bits and pieces of wood snowing onto the floor. After what seemed like one long hour, the chair toppled backwards with Jamie crashing onto the exquisitely matted floor, eyes closed.

King Tristan stood behind his desk with the same look that Smith had a while ago. Things had certainly gone awry; first the nightmares, now a failed intended partnership. Smith ignored his "partner" and faced the king. He was none too happy. "What are you thinking? That he could very well become the second Smith? He's six feet under, king, and it had not been very long since."

Absent-mindedly snatching the bottle of ale he had been drinking, he turned to leave, a boot stepping the bard on the chest as he did.


	3. Sleep tight

I

Tien sat back against the ladder-backed chair, smoking a short-stemmed pipe. Smoke with the spicy fragrance from the Hinalle leaf drifted in curls from the end of the pipe, and disappeared into nothingness. Yes, it was an abstinence, but it was odd that he could not recall how and when he picked up the habit. Perhaps it was the sheer magnitude of his ideas that was driving him mad. Mad to the extent that he picked up the pipe subconsciously.

The monk –if he could even remember himself as one- did not look the least bothered by restrictions of the disciplines every one of them had been made to swear. The sense of purpose was crumpling, if not hazy. He was starting to think that he had enrolled in the order for the sole intension of becoming what he always strived to be: a lethal fighter. As far as the Overlords were concerned, putting together a guild and leading them to the top of the mountain was just as tempting a dream to realise, though he almost had, but that was secondary. It was just to accentuate his dominance.

Tien had no idea how long he had been sitting in the inn. Though perched on the corner of Prontera, the Night Star had business that was good enough to boast about. But it did not look the least convincing now, considering the few occupied tables with no more than three mugs of ale empty. The patrons were only restless, if not bored men in their late primes trying hard to past their time. Most likely reminiscing on what a scoundrel they had been in their days.

He was no different. Flashes of his late guild members haunted his mind even in broad daylight, sometimes he thought he heard murmurs of agony from within. Maybe he really needed an acolyte to tame him before he went mad. Brashness together with madness certainly could make a man far more dangerous than one's extent of his imagination.

It was a comforting thought that nobody had confronted him since his entrance. Since the banish of the four terrors, there had been no end of people, especially kids let loose, flocking behind him to both tug at his coat demanding to show them the Extremity Fist and relate stories to them. Apparently even housewives hardly let him off, when he glimpsed of them stealing peeks at him. Even if he did not go mad these people would eventually do just the same. He had his hat to thank this morning. Pulled low over his face, people only thought of a monk trying to conceal a crooked nose.

He was wrong however, when the barkeep waded his round body around tables to where he sat. "Tien, is it? Surprised to see you here at this time. I thought people like you would only drop by at dark for supper and beer."

Tien's brows narrowed together, but the barkeep obviously could not see. _So what if I hide my face? I can't hide my body._

"What are you trying to say, Bautrum?"

The barkeep gave the monk a condescending smile, showing seriously disordered teeth. He wiped his hands on a greasy towel absent-mindedly and took a seat beside the monk. "More ale for you? Half a mug is definitely not enough to start your day."

Bautrum stood to turn to his counter, but a strong arm held him back, beckoning him to seat. "I believe you'd rather scrub your coins than some idle talk with me and more offers, Bautrum. What is your point?" Tien said simply. The patience in his tone seemed to carry a warning beneath it.

"I don't doubt you've heard about the madness in Izlude. As you know certain individuals, ah… one of them do be you, of course, are highly reputable here. You don't know that's going to put you in jeopardy, like a helpless child stranded in the middle of an Anolian pool. I tell you now, words have been passing that Cranius had turned the entire town of swordsmen and knights to dark minions in his servitude, and this is looking bad for our city," Bautrum spoke direly. "I'm afraid history would repeat upon itself."

"What does this has to do with me?" Tien said as he removed his pipe to set it on the tray. This had had a grip on his attention.

"Cranius hates his brother, the renowned knight Cerberus, for some reason even the Avenger leader don't fathom, and since you're related to him, there is a chance that his agents would hunt for you. Rumours are flying at the square everyday that the sick blade totally converts you into a whole new, if not sadistic person. Cranius is no doubt one. Tien?"

Bautrum had a point there. But how on Earth was he related to Cerberus? He was once his bitter enemy, and he still would not forget the death of his guild. All because of him and his guild. Tien never liked the knight. "I have nothing to fear, Bautrum. If he wants me, by all means, come. I have nothing to fear. By the way… you stock up on no little gossip for someone who stays behind the counter for the entire day."

Exposing his set of ugly teeth once more in an embarrassed smile, Bautrum hung the towel around his neck when he realised he had been wiping his hands for no particular reason for too long. "Well… I do need some fresh air at times, and –Tien?" The monk stood up suddenly to leave. "Hey! What ab –"

A large coin flipped across the air and went sailing into the barkeep's reflexive palm. His hands seemed to be extra sensitive when comes to zeny. Bartrum grinned to himself as the door swung shut. Yet another bill collected.

Tien adjusted his hat as he stepped out into the sun-baked streets. The summer was unbearably scorching, and even blacksmiths went topless in their street jobs. He left his torso exposed in a thumb thick slit where his white and brown monk coat did not cover. Knowing full well he would have to ignore those stares again, which was with much difficulty, he strolled down the square as though no humans populated the city.

It was almost mid-day, and the Prontera square was packed like a filled potion as usual, with the exact same scene he swore he could feel even with a blinker wrapped tightly around his eyes. Beads of sweat were already running down from his temples in rivulets, and he would be more than happy to leap into a portal leading to Luti. Provided that it was still snowing as ever, that is.

Merchants and blacksmith alike screamed the quality of their wares in what looked like a voice-box competition, and how worthy it would be if people bought them because the promotions only lasts for a limited time.

The paraphernalia were lined in creative fashions and packaging in the carts, no doubt to exude as much attraction as possible. He even saw collectives grouped together, parking themselves in a certain corner to sell the same category of goods, say, archers' needs like bow thimble and steel arrows.

Novices lingered about the entrance, many pleading with acolytes or priests for a quick fix of their injuries, but many were curtly rejected. That only left them with a choice of parting forty zeny for a bottle of potion or the like. If they were lucky enough, they would find a herb from a monster they killed to rejuvenate themselves.

Tien hardly saw any of his monk counterparts despite the proximity of St Capitolina Abbey. The affairs of the monk was far beyond him now. He still thought himself as a solo fighter not categorised whatsoever. Maybe what he had once contemplated was true. A great fighter contains a set of skills that made him so, and so he had sought the monkhood to hone the Extremity Fist, a world renowned finisher that left none breathing for the next second. Even Superiors found it a hindrance, if not an irritation. Perhaps it was just a cover up for fear.

His thoughts were shattered when he knocked a man with his shoulders, staggering him backwards. He had not noticed him there. Wait, he was no man. He was just a boy, when the compact form registered on him. The heat was certainly making one crazy.

"You're not hurt are you?" He did not give the boy a chance to speak. "Move along." Tien stepped past the boy to continue. He had no idea where he was going, and he began thinking why he even left the inn. At least it was cooler inside even though he found the barkeep a major source of irritation, maybe even more so than a bunch of Andres crawling around in his underpants.

The tall monk, not too far from a height of seven feet, shrugged his coat back to a proper position and gave another thought about his next destination. He was not foolish to walk into Izlude, a town that nobody dared venture near. It was dangerous, people said, with shadowy men and women who walked in a peculiar manner and seemed to mumble to themselves. Vice was on the rise too; people started brawls and even murdered over a mere piece of weapon. Sanity was short in supply, all but drained by the perverted blade named Tirfing. It was rumoured to bring a horrible fate to the owner, eventually driving him insane that no humanity was left in him.

Tien had heard about the owner. Like what Bautrum had told him, Cranius held the dark blade. Whatever defenders he had heard trying to salvage the insanity that was transmitting like wild venom had fled. The entire swordsmen academy had relegated to pathetic state of Cranius's dogs, to listen and serve without any queries. Or rather, serving the blade.

As much as he hated it, Tien needed to bring this up to Cerberus and company. They had to suppress this escalating madness before the wild venom infected everyone, before Tirfing became the ultimate dominating power. That was a sick thought.

Finally he had somewhere to go. He would find anyone of the Avenger first, let them know about Bautrum's words. But before he could turn back, the same boy held his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. From the way he dressed, a yellow uniform with brown stripes, brown breeches and a helm over his head, Tien found something to call him. "What do you want, swordsman?"

The boy lifted the visor and stared straight at him. "Tien, is it?" The monk suddenly felt very silly. No point wearing an ugly hat low when even a kid could recognise him. It only made his head warmer and sweaty. "If you want me to tell you bedtime stories, you had better run home before I change my mind about you," Tien said impatiently. The boy still refused to budge. "No, I do not want to listen to your stories. But I do have news for you."

Tien was left baffled at this moment. Hardly anybody talked to him for a long time, let alone a kid whom he only met once told him that he had news for him. Suspicion budded in him, but he did not know what it was. He could only wait for the boy to finish.

"You should go to Payon," the boy said, making it sound like a command instead. "I'm afraid something had happened to your friend. I think his name is Pay. Pay Skysight."

The monk's hair stood on an end. Whether was it fear or suspense, he could not tell. _How in the world did this kid know Pay? Who is he?_ There were so many questions he wanted to ask.

"Pay… What happened to him?" Tien asked the first question that sprang into his mind. The swordsman only shook his head, shutting the visor and walked off. Tien was quick enough to grab hold on his arm and pulled him back forcefully. "Tell me, swordsman, how did you know all these? Is Payon under another attack by Moonlight?"

With Elemire beside Pay all the time, he supposed there was no reason he could get caught in a predicament. He trusted the hunter's skills, and even more so with Elemire around. The two were more than enough to handle any threat immediate to Payon. The boy's flinch brought him back to his attention. "Your father's corpse was looted too. You need to head to Payon."

The brief stun of the next news gave the boy enough time to break free and run. Tien gave chase for a while but lost sight of him in the crowd. He gave up as it was impossible to search in this city square. It was far too packed. He cursed the boy. Left with no other choice, he had to travel to Payon right now. His father's body looted… he could only assume the worst of circumstances now.

A very unfortunate acolyte carrying a stack of white robes while walking gingerly with bent back dropped whatever he held when Tien took him by the front of the robe. The boy went pale at the monk's scowl that was not at all overt, but keenly felt. "Open a portal for Payon. Now!"

The acolyte jumped at the emphasis of the last word, and wasted no time fumbling for a blue gemstone. When he finally did, to his obvious relief, he desperately finished the short verse of a teleportation spell and watched the monk pelt him with a few coins before whitening into insubstantiality. The portal quivered and thinned as it completely absorbed the monk into the designated location. The acolyte slowly picked up the coins and the stack of robes he had been carrying while the events were still registering on him. He stopped in shock when a tall shadow blotted out the sunlight around him. The acolyte cocked his head up very slowly as though he had a neck cramp, but he could not distinguish the newcomer's face with the sun screened by his head. He only made out the long, flowing black robes with white arcane symbols at the hem, and the foot of a very long staff.

"Where was the monk headed, if I may know?" the man asked purposefully.

He breathed easier, but did not let his doubts run off. This suspicious man was deceptively polite, as did every other miscreant, at least in his perception. "P… Payon."

A wizard he seemed, the man muttered a "thank you" in his way, then returned to a motley group of people that had a knight, an alchemist and a rogue.

* * *

Tien found himself in an extremely dense forest of dull green everywhere. He estimated that he was far from the village; there was hardly anybody around, and the tame monsters were aplenty, an evidence that no one had been training for quite some time already. According to the anonymous swordsman, Payon seemed to be every bit dangerous to the body.

Wasting little time contemplating on the possibilities, Tien readied his fists as he treaded nimbly across low shrubs and the haphazard vines, bending under broad foliages whenever necessary. He had not a modicum of idea regarding his bearings, but he assumed that he was going the right way as he heard faint noises. It was very faint, but that little trace provided a vital clue to him.

The sounds died suddenly, but it did nothing to hinder his progress. On the contrary, he spurred all the more quicker. When the first of the Payon walls came into view, his eyes beamed. Tien leaped down below from the low plateau he stood on –and heard a soft click. It was all the ambush took. The camouflaged trap beneath his left foot clamped his ankles tight, and the drowsy sensation took effect instantaneously. He had been too careless in the run…

"Sandman trap…" Tien murmured sleepily. Try as he might, the trap was too strong to fight back. As long as it remained gripped around his ankles, he would sleep until the setter released it. The monk caught a glimpsed of several grey shadows skipping out from everywhere. He was not sure if his eyes were fooling him, or the trap giving him illusions, the next thing he knew, a plan surfaced as quick as a blink. It was worth a try…

Tien summoned every ounce of energy possibly available, conjuring five spirit spheres that gyrated about his head. Somehow he had discovered that the spheres kept him spiritually buffed, as though it gave him life. He was not sure if it worked with drowsiness, but time would tell now.

He found some strength back, but the spirit spheres slowly diminished one after another. The trap was proving to be overwhelming, killing the spheres that sustained his supplemented power. Removing it was of first priority.

The monk reached his hands awkwardly to his ankles but a strong leg kicked it away. So the shadows truly existed. A few held him up, producing a cord to bind his hands behind his back, and the rest worked at his legs. One of them, whom he saw wore a bandanna, kept the trap intact. Tien turned crimson, his insides churning and boiling. He felt the few men behind him start to hesitate, but a curt shout by the man in bandanna had them working as vigorously afore.

He knew he was finished when the last of the spirit spheres grew faint, dissipating into nothingness subsequently. Right at that moment, he felt the life force drained from him, as the Sandman trap sank him into oblivion.


	4. JK's advice

**-2-**

"Where does he think he's going?"

The trio had been walking along the Prontera streets silently but that was broken by the black-robed wizard. He saw the monk exit the inn and next thing he knew, he was blended in the throng. Sagis caught sight of him again when there was a rain of white sheets, and there he was, negotiating something with a boy.

"Payon, wiz," Reka replied. "Forgotten it already? Been less than a minute since you asked!"

Sagis ignored the rogue, as usual. The streets were much busier as merchants from other cities started pouring into Prontera, where most business people thought there were no less decent opportunities to pocket some gold. After all, Prontera was supposed to be the capital city of Rune Midgart, the center of trade.

Of course, some hapless victims had not even realised that the rogue had passed them by, eliciting the sudden disappearance of their equipments. They hardly did when a customer's demands had them panicking to seek the equipment, which obviously, was not there. Apparently it only proved to be amusing to the rogue, who was trying hard to hide her snicker. The knight and the wizard kept their solemn countenance.

"Don't be a plank, will you? You'll drive me mad with those stone faces! Want to go hunting?"

Reka gave a huge, intentional sigh that hinted her growing boredom, and leaped off into the throng to work her caper. Subsequently Sagis heaved one of his own too, but this time more of a relief.

Words were still flying like a mad flutter of owls when the two rounded a corner away from the business district. The talk of the town had not taken for a change ever since it began about a month ago. The taint of Tirfing.

Cerberus's fellow guild mates found it impossible not to disclose the news from him. The knight was sure to hear it somewhere in the town. Even if he did not hear it, he could see it for himself. It was not like Izlude and Prontera were a thousand miles apart.

They headed west all the way to the end of the pavement, near the western gates. If Cerberus was correct, the Fiendbane quarters still maintained its position. Cerberus felt the flashbacks hitting him again. He felt foolish to be perturbed by the horrors nearly a year ago. One of them was the eradication of the Fiendbanes, the associates of the two warlords, Smith and the late Larzen. One year was more than enough time for the squad to reform. That did not include the discrete, shadowy trainings all members were supposed to go through.

"We'll go in and see them," Sagis said. "I mean… him."

Cerberus understood that. So, even his guild mate had not gotten accustomed to Larzen's death. The two made their way into the low building, and all they could see was a large empty room with a steel pole standing in the middle of it. Cerberus did not know why Smith had to keep the confines of his workshop to such a low profile, unless the trainings were being held right there. But who in their right mind would train their squad in the middle of a workshop?

The knight shifted his sword belt as he stepped within the tiles around the foot of the pole that looked rather prominent to him. There were four square tiles to be exact. He only hoped that the sequence was not altered.

He motioned for Sagis to step back for a moment, before he began tapping the toes of his boot on the tiles in a certain pattern. Cerberus quickly gripped the pole, waiting for the set time of the tiles that were remaining stationary to expire. A few seconds passed, and the tiles dropped open, allowing Cerberus to slide down the pole.

Sagis wasted little time thinking on the contraption, and followed suit. The wizard slid down the pole, and the tiles flipped back up to close up the hole.

"Hey, you boys!"

The gruff voice reverberated throughout the workshop, belonging to that of none other than Smith. They were surprised to see Smith sitting alone in one corner carving a piece of wood, and saw another stranger on the opposite end. They expected more people, especially a massive gathering of the warlord and his elite squad.

Cerberus associated with the warlord often enough to hear of that man in the corner. He looked really young, perhaps no more than six or seven years younger than he was, in short, too young looking to be made a warlord. He looked more like someone who frequented the inn to hit on the bar maids.

The knight grimaced at the queer attire he was clad in. A blue bandanna that hid a bandage beneath, a Sweet Gent and his mouth spotted a romantic leaf. At least he was not so strangely dressed on the lower portion. Like any other bards, the man was clad in a simple shirt with a white coat worn over it. But unlike other bards, he did not see any guitar. Or any other musical instruments.

"Your new warlord partner, am I not correct?" Cerberus spoke to Smith. Sagis simply took a seat near the warlord, sneezing ever now and then. The workshop was bad enough considering the cumbersome entrance, and now, the dust. The wizard thought it was more conducive to work in the Prontera sewage than this mouldy place. He wondered if Smith even bothered dusting the workshop.

"Nay, I don't have such a young lad for one. Myself is enough, though," Smith spoke stubbornly.

The other warlord heard it perfectly. "Oh yes? I still think you're jealous. Jealous that the king finds you a has-been to employ another young, talented, most of all, better looking warlord."

Cerberus grinned at the childish exchange of words. It was not as serious as he had thought, and that was a good thing. If Smith could even get involved in such petty bicker, he was probably over Larzen's passing. But who knows, perhaps not so. The stout warlord had business to keep him occupied day in and day out. He suddenly remembered him being promoted to the chief of the blacksmith community.

"You wouldn't be sitting around like overfed Porings and locked in some stupid squabble when the Izludeans come marching over your carcass, would you?" Sagis said.

Smith's eyes narrowed for a moment, as if in doubt. "Izludeans? Marching over _us_? What's that about, young wiz?" Worry creased his aging face, but that was quickly dismissed. He had surmounted enough calamities over his career to publish a diary on it all. The loss of Larzen had been the hardest one to face –yet.

As if it was rote, Cerberus related the rumours word for word to the warlord, of course, to the lanky bard as well. Smith waved a palm and nodded his head. "Aye, I'd be living with thief bugs if I didn't know of this, good knight. I hope you took this well enough, pal. Now it seems that the troublemaker is but your very own kin, and I'd be damned to ever co-exist with such a brother! Bah!"

Cerberus was silent for a while. He noticed the frown on the bard's face, and he figured that the new warlord of Prontera probably had little knowledge of Cranius, if not the relationship between them. "How do I address you?" he turned to the bard and asked.

"Call me Jamie, aight? And for the _last_ time," the bard emphasized, eyeing Smith balefully. "For the _last_ time, I am not named after some girl and I know boys do have the same name as I do, aight?"

"You talking to me, young lass?" Smith growled in equal animosity.

Sagis thumped the butt of his staff hard against the concrete, and both men stopped for a moment. "The dust is getting too much for my liking and you wouldn't like it to ignite this pit you call a workshop. Do we really have to speak here? We could stand under the sun and its no problem."

"Exactly! I'll put my money up that Osiris's tomb couldn't beat this," Jamie added, and chuckled to himself.

"Some of the swordsmen from the youth division had talked to me," Cerberus quickly cut in, derailing all arguments. "Cranius is becoming mad, totally obsessed with that cursed sword of his. You know it, the more you hold on to it, chances are you'll be doomed yourself. The madness extents to no end, I believe."

Sagis sniffed irritably at the dust, and he held a flab of his wizard robe against his nose. Smith gave him an apologetic look, but it did nothing than to irritate the wizard further.

"Sanity is short in supply there, I think. Those who stand against Cranius stand no chance. Either they are forced to flee, or become corrupted to serve that bastard like a dog." Smith said.

For some reason that struck a cord. _Those forced to flee? Serve Cranius? Which one does Kera fall into…?_

"Damn…"

"Excuse me? Cerberus?" Jamie spoke out loud enough to echo the room. The knight snapped out of his reverie to see the bard waving his hands at him to get his attention. "Yes? You were saying?"

"Back when I was in Comodo, I still heard about your guild. Avenger, is it? Pretty impressive bunch, you even took down the Superiors. That's something, knight. I have to ask, did all of you seriously go off on your own?"

Cerberus gave it some thought. Yes, the business was over, but people still regarded them as a guild. He wondered if they were just not used to it, or whatever opinions they were entitled to. It was a fact that they still stayed near each other often, but not for now. Each and every member had a goal, and there were somewhere out there doing something about it. The knight felt that all of them had somehow grown up from the experience with the foursome. It would be stupid not to spot a change. There certainly was.

It was only recently that he returned from the scouting mission carried out by knights. They were assigned to certain cities or towns mainly to offer whatever help and reprieve they could, the others to record the destructions and return with reports. It was not a bad decision for King Tristan to carry out such humanitarian efforts. The knight had little concern about the politics, but he knew it would benefit both parties anyway.

The knight's immediate companions were now made up of Sagis and Reka. Yeven was somewhere south at Alberta, supposedly for mercantile purposes. The man was a rare talent, no doubt. A half alchemist and half blacksmith fills a coffer fast, so he said. If there was one man he could call a friend, there would not be any thoughts on it. It had to be the alchemist. Back in the days, during the inevitable struggle of both financial difficulties and shortage of manpower in the process of guild building, Cerberus had to credit the alchemist for the establishing of the monumental Avenger.

He did not forget about Skull either. In fact, the assassin was the very first man that came into his life and into the guild during that particular period. Cerberus did not know what to call it, but he thought that Skull's admission was rather… random. He was merely using the guild as a base to hunt and assassinate Galor, the man responsible for his sister's death. That very much made the dejected knight realizing exactly why a skilled assassin such as him would readily agree to become his recruit unconditionally. Skull had fulfilled that hitherto, making himself wanted in the process.

Things had taken for a huge change. It was already not within the guild that Skull had taken the sole priestess of Avenger to seek out the shining plant, a unique growth that shimmers in alternating colours. According to myths, the spoils of the uprooted plant were remedies that could heal a thousand ailments.

It was worth a try, though it might take a serendipitous man to find such a thing. The last time Cerberus spoke with him, the knight found out about his guilt. His guilt of treating Mariane nothing but a hindrance which eventually had her traumatised, and silenced. The knight had already said that it was the Abyss Knight's fault, but Skull would hear none of it. Like what Tien often said, Skull was thick headed and a Majorous would die hammering his brains. Skull had insisted that he would take the blame for it.

Cerberus had not heard from the monk, but saw him demanding a warp service from an acolyte with overt urgency. It was all that he knew, and the knowledge of his destination. He knew his former guild rival was a reckless man, a monk that could go out of control. But through all this he sensed an impending trouble on the village. Try as he might, he could not think of anything other than another cave assault.

While the knight thought of Payon, Pay abruptly came to mind. The hunter and Mariane were the next to be his recruits right after Skull, and how could he forget him with his mirth and his falcon's antics. He thought wistfully of the hunter, who was one of the first to come and the first to leave.

"Ooo, that naughty one went eloping with his new squeeze. You know that blonde chick on the monk's team carrying that big crossbow, don't you? They might be in Payon though. Most likely… well maybe not again. Odin knows," Reka had once told him. That piece of news had cost him five hundred zeny.

"That boy's with the hunter's force, or whatever. He's pretty much the mama's boy now, I heard. But he's all grown up you know. He's with that huntress, ain't?" Yeven told him another time.

Sagis shifted in his chair and stood up almost immediately. "I'm done here. If you're looking for me, I'll be outside for a walk."

Cerberus nodded, watching the wizard leave with intermittent thumps to the concrete floor made by the Staff of Soul.

"Now that he's gone I can at least talk," Jamie said as he stood up. "That guy's stare makes you flinch. I thought he might throw me a firebolt anytime."

"If you don't be silent those mind-fogged Izludeans will," Smith shot back. "We don't know what they're all about, now we just have to wait."

Cerberus frowned even more. "Wait? We may not know their aims but surely that damned sword can make them do what they wouldn't even dream of doing. For all we know they might be lurking about already."

His own words bounced off his own mind. _Lurking about? Was that why Tien was behaving strangely just now? But those Izludeans wouldn't have covered so much ground all the way to Payon, not when there's no sign of any ill reports here._

"What do you suggest then?"

"Hey knight," Jamie called out. "I hope to be seeing your guild back, armed and loaded. Do what you people need to do."

Cerberus was pensive for a while, and shot a grin at the bard. "Yes, my exact sentiments."


	5. Ill luck

**-3-**

It could not have been any easier earning money like that. Yeven smiled to himself when the last of his slotted bucklers went traded off in exchange for some considerable amount of zeny.

"Ahh, time to close up. It's going to take me a long, long time to count my gold," the alchemist muttered with a sense of satisfaction. That day marked his last day of his brief stay in Alberta, with nothing of the items he brought remaining on him. He had nothing but three fat pouches of coins that threatened to blow the seams. The alchemist surveyed the other carts around him. There were no blacksmiths or merchants who would not know of the annual street bazaar held at the home of blacksmiths, Alberta.

As expected, hundreds of them turned up at the festival, with hopes held high that their carts would be emptied. Yeven had seen exquisite equipments on display, but he knew it took more strategy than quality to boost the sales. Careful research had him hunting for slotted bucklers, one of the items that were having its own boon period. It was high in demand, especially by rogues and swordsmen. It was little wonder that his guild mates complimented him on his excellent foresight more often than not.

It was near sunset and he still saw the entire street lined with desperate merchants. He saw a shop selling nothing but red potions, and he almost laughed out loud. For a fleeting moment he wanted to tell the dejected merchant that people could seriously hunt for it. Jabbing his fingers in air, he issued a quick count and realised that the poor merchant had the same number of bottles as he had seen early this morning.

Yeven was going to return to Prontera as planned in advance. The skies had already darkened, and he hoped that the Kafra services were still opened. He had no plans to linger in this town any longer than he hoped, considering that he had emptied his stock. His night, or perhaps the next morning in the worst case scenario, it was only limited to a few lonely drinks at the inn or watching the ships come and go at the Alberta harbour.

Not surprisingly, the folks did not have intensions of returning home. Not just yet. There was no better chance to buy a good accessory or two than the bazaar. Yeven had heard that people bothered walking the streets overnight purely because they were spoiled for choice. Despite that, they stayed past dark though.

Talks of the latest items good for a certain class, shouts of haggle and even the words of Izlude were mixed in a wild chatter. The alchemist swore that the din could even be heard ten miles away. He pushed his way past the tight assembly of people, once receiving a harsh rant in return. After emerging from the endless sea of people, Yeven found himself in the middle of a T-junction with the entrance in front of him.

He sighed heavily when the Kafra usually stationed at the entrance was missing. Thoughts of buying a passage Prontera surfaced, and he thought it was just as sound. It was not like he was lacking in riches. But the problem that presented itself proved just the same. It could be too late for anyone to set sail, and they would rather spend the night in the bazaar.

"Hey!"

Yeven shouted out in surprise when a young rogue collided into him, sending him tumbling down. The rogue quickly sprinted off as soon as he got up, leaving the alchemist to curse at him. _A rogue?_

Yeven felt his shirt pocket to find it flat. "Damn! My money!" He could still spot the running figure dodging and skimming his way out of Alberta and into the night. Getting himself back to his square base, Yeven yelled incoherently as he gave chase, trying hard to keep his target in sight. It was not quite possible to catch up to the fast rogue now; he was still trapped in the sea of people unlike his robber.

The alchemist ignored the curious stares as he ran by, and he knew he looked like any typical madman. The looks all but suggested that. Yeven was out of the gates in no time, but he had to put up with his dimmed range of vision. The young rogue was nothing but a thinning shade that grew thinner into the forest. He could not believe it. The earnings from hours of hunting mugged in a flash!

At this point of time he had to guess the direction of his intended. He had entered the edge of the forest, which was still quite some distance from the hands that held his gold. His luck was not entirely bad, however. At least he had the moonlight to corroborate his decisions. The alchemist kept a close scrutiny on the soft boot prints in the hardening mud as he advanced deeper. He had the afternoon downpour to thank too.

The prints ended abruptly at a row of spiky scrubs. _The lad must've jumped. Damn him, and damn my luck!_

He stared at the bush and made a quick estimation. There might be hope if he followed it to the end; the boy would die from running overnight.

Yeven took a few steps back, and took a run. He was still unaware of the click after his first few steps, until he felt a numbing sensation rising rapidly from his ankles. "Ahh… Ugh!"

The alchemist groaned something subconsciously, and fell clutching his right ankle. He ran his hands over to feel some sort of contraption cleverly clamped tight around it. It only occurred to him after a couple of futile tries to free himself that this was all a set up. The rogue that led him here could not be more coincidental. He had to be part of this ambush.

As if on cue, a few dark shadows flew out from the bushes all around him, kneeling over him to pin him down hard. One began wrapping a cord over his wrists, binding it behind his back. Another forced open his mouth to push a piece of rag in. There was no escape.

Both pain and drowsiness took over him, rendering him out cold not too long later.

"So, did you get the right man?" a newcomer stepped out to ask his companions.

"We can't be wrong. That's the alchemist. He is the Yeven our great lord of the dark wanted."


	6. Stalkers and daggers

**-4-**

The silvered hair man rarely toured a particular field some distance south of Izlude, commonly known as the Poring Heaven. Nor the vicinity of it, and he definitely did not realise that the medication he sought after so bad was no farther than the field itself. Not even one trader in the business frenzy at the Prontera square possessed it, which greatly narrowed the hope of his hunt.

It was a different experience for Skull altogether. Certainly he was able to roam freely right now without being in fear. It all seemed like a dream. One moment he was wanted dead or alive by the King, and the other he was freed of the high officials' constant objective of bringing back his carcass back to the great capital city. One thing led to another. Backtracking on things, he eventually revisited the murder of Galor, the crusader of the Overlords he loathed so much that he past cared the consequences. Skull thought he did not need the redemption almost a year ago. It was truly a façade since Tien credited him for saving the church. King Tristan _was_ a great fool!

To him, the monk was still the bigger fool. Perhaps he just did not know what he was thinking. Maybe, just maybe Tien was making an effort to be magnanimous, putting the animosity aside to battle the foremost threat. Whatever the case, he was the least bothered. The task at hand was much more important. He had to find the Shining Plant.

The monk's voice kept playing in repetition in his head whenever he looked at Mariane, inevitably leading him to the source of her deficiency. The priestess could not hope to do anything unless she found her voice back. So far, the team of acolytes and priests from the Prontera church had not been successful in their Healing, which shocked him. If the best of Prontera that has to offer was unable to cure her, what would? His only chance lay in the plant. If he could not find it, the assassin did not know what he would do. It was the first time he was dumped into a dilemma, feeling at a total lost. He might be a great warrior in the battlefield, but Skull felt that this was starting to grow beyond him.

A soft breeze brushed his pale cheeks as he sat contemplating on the whats and what-nots. He had barely begun his journey with the priestess, but he was already stopping. Skull knew he looked pathetic, and that set-off his hot-headed behaviour. The feeling only deepened whenever he turned to regard her, who would only give him a hopeful look and a smile. That had served to make him feel guilty than ever.

Skull was glad that they were away from Izlude. He managed to witness the chaotic events in the town, which was fast succumbing to the power of the twisted, sentient blade named Tirfing. He knew most of those who fled wisely, or at least in time before the insanity hit them, had taken refuge at Prontera. It was a console to them that the capital city of Rune-Midgart was the closest and safest city they could ever hope to take up accommodation at. Everyday they talked of their fears of their hometown being consumed wholly by something they swore they never had seen or heard of.

Even novices were advised to stay home until the Prontera army was really sure that the coast was clear. Apparently that was not the case, when the daily reports filing in hardly differed from one another. Insanity was rampant in the city and there was a high chance of hostility against those who dared venture in. They were still unsure of the activities transpiring in Izlude, and they did not risk scouting lest they set off a spark out of nothing.

The situation did not appear tense, but the Prontera army was ready around the clock. That might be it, the calm before the storm. It had happened so many times in past conflicts to find it a rarity.

As expected, there was not one person training out of the south gate. The assassin was on his toes since he left Prontera. He had not sense anything coming for him so far, but he did not take chances. Still, he had the vulnerable priestess to protect. He suddenly felt stupid not to make use of the Kafra services and let himself be exposed for attack out in the plains. On second thoughts, he had not a sliver of idea where to find the plant anyway. He had only his luck to rely on while he traversed these fields randomly.

_Somebody is near. The wind is blowing away from the trees, and there couldn't have been movements and noises. The Izludeans are out._

The two were easy targets, being open in the fields. The scarce plantation closest to them was hard to serve as a cover, but it was possible for a skilful enough backstabber. Skull gave his companion a grim look, who in turn caught the meaning.

"Stay silent, all right?"

Mariane nodded once and pointed to the west. The man dressed in thief's clothe, specially designed to allow it's wearer fluid movements, quickly worked out his bearings as he loosened the envenomed stilettos hidden in his boots. There was no need for him to expose his deadly katars yet. It had been his strategy for a long time; let the opponents build their confidence when they see him without proper defences, and find an opening when they are all over themselves. It had worked well most of the time. Despite that, he made it a habit not to underestimate his potential assailants. He might be a good tactician, but that did not make him a god.

"The west? Poring Heaven?" Skull confirmed.

Even before the priestess nodded in response, he led her all the way into the Poring invested fields, as the presence of their followers became more obvious along the way.

-

-

-

For more than a dozen times within the night itself, the man with a bland looking broadsword strapped across the span of his back felt the cold shivers. It was just a shiver, and he did not know why it rattled him. He felt an imposing presence of someone, or something that was about to dawn, yet it eluded him.

As if to play along with the atmosphere, the gossamer curtains danced in a wild flap and was reduced to a mere sway in a matter of seconds. The cycle continued in repetition; the lone man realised somehow that this feeling would not stop. That inexplicable chill haunted him every day and every night -night especially- when he already expected it. It was no secret to him anymore. What started as a shaky assumption became the wrecking truth over the days. There was no denying. Ever since the broadsword came into his possession, that was that. He tried to ignore the oddities, wishing that it was all delusional on his part. The lord sincerely wished he was. Especially so when some invisible being started speaking to him.

Wait. That was not the case. More like, the sword was _talking_ to him. The looks people gave him were eloquent. He was mad, indeed. Again he tried one time to abandon that object, but failed miserably. It clung onto him like a leech, feeding his mind with death threats. Now that was the strange part. The lord supposed that the sword was capable of bending his will and did as it told, and he dared not take chances. If he had any iota of sanity remaining in him in the first place. But he knew one thing. His men were growing by numbers by the days, and he knew it had to be the sword again. It could be influential whenever it wanted to be.

He had not realised how pathetic a state he had landed himself into, serving a mere sword like a leashed dog. Once he questioned the blade about forcing men under it, only to be assaulted by a bout of excruciating pain in his head. The dark blade then fed him a message that it knew what it was doing and needed no outsiders to doubt it's intensions. The owner of the broadsword knew all along that it was not what it looked like it was. The broadsword was no broadsword, and definitely not a bland looking one at that. When unsheathed and reoriented, it would morph into what it truly represented: a wicked, mind-bending blade of darkness named Tirfing.

There could only be two plausible reasons to the conscription. Either it wanted to build something, or fight something. And chances are, the latter would prevail. Izlude was closest to the capital city of Rune Midgart, Prontera. Yes, it had to be it. It was the idyllic base to start infecting neighbours with the same insanity and corruption. The lord of Izlude could only sit and watch it unfold. Lord Cranius did not have a mind of his own anymore.

_I feel it. The true owner, the only worthy wielder of your's truly, is coming. He is coming… fear for what is dear to you, because the master is returning. He is coming._

Cranius, still dressed in his knight suit that consisted of a plate mail, vambrace and greaves, knew not whom Tirfing spoke to. Perhaps there really was some invisible being soaring about, unbeknownst to him.

_I speak to you and all. You think you are worthy to hold me to go to a battle? You are a puppet, that is all. I see you as one, until the master returns. Feed me your fears, knight. Feed me your hatred, so I may grow in strength to eradicate it. I am craving for blood, not boredom._

Cranius flinched a little as he stared off into the bleak night. There were no stars at all and a pinkish hue spanned the skies as far as he could see. It was _really_ a bleak night, and a long one at that. He had visions of the dark blade running across his own wrist to draw fresh blood. Like what Tirfing had meant, he was just in the driver's seat temporarily. When the "master" returned, as claimed by the sword, he would be freed from it. Whether he would be freed from the "master" too, that would be beyond him.

When the time comes, I demand a grand entrance for the great owner of me. Now, the men would be ideal for it. Put them to good use, Cranius. And do not worry, Lord of Izlude. My owner will make his entrance very soon. My owner made his promise…

"Cerberus… I want his blood, I want it spilled from his neck. I want him… lying over the tip of my sword," he muttered deliriously.

And so it shall be. But not until the great owner returns. By then, it would be an understatement to call it fun.

It was hard to determine if the lord comprehended everything, as he maintained the blank stare into nothingness. But there was one thing he did not miss, which would be the daunting task of welcoming the "great owner" of Tirfing, and his fate when it was all said and done.

-

-

-

"What do you know? They're right on our heels, for your information."

Skull did not stop moving along the foot of the grassy hills at a fast-paced walk, the priestess trailing closely behind. The assassin never did look back once; he feared that whoever was behind this, would give the orders for a frontal assault. At best, that would happen for uncovering them. For now, it was better to play along until he could formulate something better.

Yes, he knew fighting, one of best around to be exact. The assassin only had the burden of Mariane to worry about. There was a good chance of a backfire lest he underestimated this bunch. Speaking of numbers, he could not deny his handicap. He could add five fives without getting eleven. If only the priestess was not silenced, he would not have been stepping on a shaky foothold.

The two had went a good mile into the fields, the poring family whizzing past them in a blur of pink, green and orange. There were no covers unless they crossed the roped bridge over to the other side of the poring-infested isle, and the small thickets near where they were made poor excuse for one.

Mariane held a hand over the assasin's shoulder, stopping his jog. She pointed to her feet that sported countless blisters, abrasions and what looked like bites.

"We have to hurry," Skull only said. He ushered her to climb onto his back, and he was off instantaneously at a quick pace. It looked like he was seasoned enough not to require momentum. The sounds of his stalkers' footfalls were growing by the minute and it would not take very long for them to close the distance enough to put a knife through their ribs. Skull knew that the group was making their presence obvious to play him into their own games. He could already sense one of them just right behind him. About time now…

Whipping around so quick that it startled the first man in line, Skull displayed his pair of katar which all five of them swore was not there half a second ago. There was no room for talk at all. The man recovered from his stun as quickly as it had came, but he only barely deflected a close-in slash from the side. As though professionally trained, the other four charged abreast, then split to form a ring around the assassin. Skull tried not to allow that to happen, unless he planned to die as short as a second.

The assassin bent low and took hold on Mariane's hand, beguiling them to think that he planned to carry her and slip off the ring. That had totally fooled them beyond anything else. The last man was not even close to filling the last gap in the ring when a greenish dagger seemingly flew out of their quarry's boot to stop in his side. The man groaned at first, but the numbing venom branched out quickly. Skull wasted little time marvelling his handiwork, and he knew very well the effects of it.

Another one of those greenish dagger sailed through the air but the man Skull intended to hit deftly sidestepped his way to safety. He had planned to save the remaining two when a better opening presented itself, but the circumstances were not quite the same. He had the priestess to worry about at the same time. How he hated distractions…

He bent low to snatch another dagger, but this time he pushed it to a pair of waiting hands. Skull had signalled earlier once he decided to turn his distraction to a tool. The same man dived too early. The dagger left Mariane's hands and the greenish tip imbedded itself into the man's left eye.

The three, realising that they had to regroup, did just that and charged as a whole. Twin daggers and katars brandished, they gave chase to the fleeing pair. At first he thought it was the wind, but the sharp whistle through the air confirmed that it was a projectile. It would be too late to do anything now.

Skull yanked Mariane in the direction he fell flat, and watched a dagger fall. But it had still caught him near the knees. The stinging pain exacerbated every second and his tights were fast staining with red blotches. The priestess gasped involuntarily, giving nothing but a helpless look. She could hope to accomplish nothing as long as the plant not in her grasp. How she wished she could simply chant the words to the healing spell and get them out of this predicament.

"Ugh… run for the bridge. At the end of the isle… look closely. And… be careful. I… I will try to find you as soon I make worm-infested corpses out of them," instructed Skull.

Mariane shook her head. He knew she was persistent to stay with him, especially when his knee was in no good shape.

"Go! Before you land us both dead!"

Another dagger from his opponents flew for his chest, then went fountaining tufts of grass instead. The priestess gave him a wistful look, but she was already off before Skull could roar at her again.

Skull stood up obstinately to fight off the three foes, if there was three in the first place. He heard a muffled yelp not too far behind him, and his worst fears were realised. As expected, the one-eyed man was not dead. He had totally overlooked him. The blinded man still had the dagger in his eye as he held Mariane hostage, a serrated blade held dangerously over her throat.

"No! What do you want?"

One of the three before him slammed a boot on his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He grunted and gasped for air as the man dug his heels in harder. He had a strange dark look on his face, as did the others. A blinker was wrapped around his eyes, like any other assassin who opted to keep a mysterious persona.

"I want nothing more than your life. But it looks like there could be some fun with the priestess. Dugnahn! Jared! Throw him over the bridge and bring our hostage back!"

The two sandwiching him grabbed him to a sitting position, producing a cord to wrap it tightly around his wrists, behind his back. Skull felt something solid hard club the back of his head, painting his vision red. He was surprised that he was not knocked out yet. Not until two pairs of arms carried him over the roped bridge precariously, before he faded out.


	7. First day of work

**-5-**

Allen of House Drakand made one final hurdle into another forest that looked every bit denser than the one he had left behind, before finding some well deserved reprieve from long hours of travel on an outcropped rock. Apparently he was too worked out that he past cared the gooey moss that wounded around the rock, and sat down on it. The newly appointed archer immediately felt the tension lifted off his calves, and the aching in his feet dissipated considerably.

The woods in this region was oddly devoid of trainees and novices, much less clans and guilds. The last time he was here, he had a hard time walking through it without receiving a crude glare or a curt warning. Though he was still fifteen, a fresh archer at that, he knew better than to step even ten feet into the fight for his own good. If he did, they would very well shortlist him as a potential kill stealer, and he would likely have been on his toes for the next few days. This was especially so, being an archer. They were eyed the most often, secondary to mages.

Whatever the case, he felt safe armed with his new toys, the bow and arrows. He had a thin quiver hung at his hips that bristled with fletches which was made from Falcon feathers, according to his father, Drakand senior. The young archer had not a proper training schedule posted to him yet. That being the case, he did not have any trainings in the Marksmanship module, not one, the elementary lessons. Ironically, he still felt safe.

The woods were thick enough to hide a troop of fifty men or more, many more, it seemed. Odin knows what lurked behind the scrub bushes, or what lay waiting up in the leafy crowns. Allen could very well be questioning his own speed of reaction, rather than worrying about a fight.

Young as he was, the gallivanting bug budded in him, just like any other kids who thought they were something when they finally did acquire a promotion from the novice stage. Until they traipsed into an encounter with the worst nightmare, say, a Phreeoni. Certainly, they don't expect to be pardoned by a Superior. It would be a matter of fighting or dying. There was no room for escape whatsoever.

Allen had encountered no little difficulties with Drakand senior. His family line was involved in exports, that making up the backbone of their gold. They made and exported steel and iron arrows, to be specific. Ever since he was officially an archer, his hopes of being liberated from the confines of his home and the Payon Archer Academy to scour the lands of Rune Midgart rose by a great notch. Not until his father put a crimp in his plans, saying how vulnerable he still was. He had spent no little time convincing the senior of the house that he would start earning his own keep and he would start with collecting raw ores for refining. When his father was still reluctant to budge, he added that he would not go beyond two miles of the forest.

There he was, on his first trip. Or rather, his first day of work. The sun had dried his moisture, but not his adventuring crave. The young archer estimated that he was still within two miles of the forest, although it was becoming too thick and dark for his liking. That did not slow him down just yet. He needed to impress his father, especially on his first assignment, so much so that he would be granted enough freedom to at least travel to Prontera to see his friends who had since left him to pursue their priesthood. He had heard so much about the capital of the world not to miss it. Deciding on that with a keen resolve, he reckoned that his fatigue had subsided enough to resume his journey.

Low, forested hills sprung up before him, with lethargic shafts of pale yellow beams piercing the forest floor. Fallen branches crunched loudly beneath his sandals, as it found its way deeper to the hard mud. Bow slung across his shoulder in a fashion that he had noticed far too often on hunters, he fingered the arrow fletching as he winded his way deeper, eyes scrutinizing for the slightest glint of metal. His luck had not been good, and he only realised that when he made a rough count of what he had rounded up in his bag. Two rough Oridecons and three rough Eluniums. His father could have outdone him given lesser time. _Of course, he can go as far as he liked, unlike me. You find nothing but mounds of Willows' bark in Payon._

_Thud._

Allen crouched instantaneously. He was not sure if he heard it right, but it did sound like someone falling. Or perhaps someone was stalking him and decided to expose himself. He crawled on his stomach to the nearest cover he could find, and finally settled behind a high jutted root of a tree that must had been there for at least a hundred years. He tried to muffle his breathing for fear that it might give him out, at the same time pulling out an arrow to fit to his crudely made bow.

_Thud. Ugh. Thud._

Now it sounded to him as if someone was being mobbed. He left his hideout and crawled on his belly in the direction of the noise. Allen stopped short of a flaked trunk, and risked a glance. His sight first landed on a sloped face of a plateau, and further down was a group of four men working frantically over a struggling man. Allen stared wide eyed and suppressed a gasp lest he wanted to be next. The four men had a strange dark look on their faces, despite the distance, he could see it. And it scared him. He spotted two assassins among the quartet and the other two were a rogue and a swordsman.

The victim seemed to have stopped his resistance, for the attackers had subtly relaxed their operations. He knew that they had killed the man. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he sat against the trunk for what seemed like a few hours. _No, I need to get back. I must tell father. Now's not the time to try and impress him. Good lord, I just witnessed a murder!_

Allen stood up –and spilled his bag of stones. He knew it was not that voluble, even to him, but he was sure that it travelled. Glancing back, he saw four pairs of eyes squinting in his direction, and soon a shout of command reverberated around the forest. All the attackers, except the rogue, hoisted the dead man and disappeared behind a row of trees.

Allen found his feet moving on their own seemingly, sprinting across the forest floor as he hoped against hope that he could outrun the fast advancing rogue not too far behind him. True, he was the fastest sprinter in his posse of friends, but whether he could match the speed of a much older, if not experienced rogue, he began to have his doubts.

"Forfeit, boy. You won't even dream of eluding me."

Allen felt the words stab his soul as realisation dawned on him that he would be the next casualty. He increased his speed down the descending slope, as did the rogue. He had a fleeting thought of spinning around to shoot down his pursuer, but he knew his limits well enough to even try it. _Why am I so careless! I should've listened to father, but its too late now._

The young archer felt his heart leapt when the grey Payon walls came within sight range. _Just a little bit more, and I can scream for help!_

He did not even turn back once. His feet suddenly began aching once again, and it was promptly ignored. Allen heard a rustle of leaves far behind him. The rogue probably gave up his chase or was caught in a tangle of vines. Either way, he bristled with hope while Payon neared. That might very well have been the biggest relieve in his life –yet.

The air wheezed for about two seconds, and then pain came. Right in the joint, at the back of the knee. Allen buckled and collapsed in a sickening fall on the side of his head, and inertia drove him in a downward roll. There was nothing but pain. He felt his entire being numbed, especially his left leg, where he had lost all the feeling. Allen lay very still.

"Please don't… I won't tell father, not anyone. I… I promise you," Allen pleaded weakly when he found his voice.

The rogue stood over him, and continued watching him silently. His gaze ran to the back of the archer's leg, where the hilt of a cutter showed. The entire length of the dagger had been buried perfectly. The man's lips went curled in a snarl hen he began to grow sick of Allen's unceasing whine, then drew out another dagger to raise it above the neck.

-

-

-

When Yeven first saw the two halves of the broken Arbalest, the alchemist looked nearly ready to club his skull with his axe. Pay knew that his fellow guild mate had never taken a liking to see his masterpieces flawed, much less broken in two neat halves. The hunter had explained that it was hard to avoid such things in a battle, especially one as monumental as the one with the foursome, and he too was just as disappointed as Yeven was to watch his trusted bow snap.

Despite his friend's grumblings, he laughed it off. A few days later he went knocking on the alchemist's door again, this time humbly requesting for a "remake and repair", which turned out to be a door-slamming experience. He knew the trick. There was nothing quite like a good transaction to have Yeven grinning his way to the Prontera bank. Before leaving though, he yelled that he would fork out a fold more than the usual.

Pay was a little more adapted to the newly revamped Payon since it did. There was no more of the classic walkway bridge that the previous Payon had, and the main white marble road that once linked the bridge of the entrance. The Payon hitherto was nothing more than something just a level higher than a makeshift camp established across the span of an open field, according to him. The rich sense and air of tradition seemed to have diminished. And the worst part was the feeling of incarceration. _You won't want to see our village the way it was when Moonlight prowled through it, would you?_

His mother's words ricocheted off his mind, but strangely the possibility did not propel him to do what he was supposed to. The Mistress of House Skysight had succeeded so far in convincing the hunter to serve the civil force to put a crimp in future attempts of subjugation over the village. The cave demons were known to be relentless enough to overcome the stubbornness of the minotaurs in the north, known as the Majorous for the aristocratic ones. When backed by Moonlight, they would not die without a fight. Of course, the feline Superior was rumoured to have returned to her demonic plane and promptly reclined a hand into the mortal affairs.

To think back on it, he realised that it was a pathetic attempt to use Moonlight and her pawns as an impetus, or rather an excuse, to usher him into the Elite Hunter Squad. Pay had told her once that one man more made little difference, and he was not a god. That earned him a ringing smack across the cheek as a lesson for respect.

_Might as well, I told her that I would not stick with the guild for life. About time to return._

The hunter produced a handful of corn cobs from his pouch and raised it to his falcon. His grey companion swooped low and cleared it before he could recite the village name five times. He followed as the falcon soared ahead of him, meaning to lead him back to his tent.

A signpost pointing in the direction of where the falcon, named Raven by him, headed to read "Payon Cave Ahead". A security barricade had been erected all around the perimeter of the hole, with members of the squad taking shifts to be the attendant for the day. Pay knew that the Kafra of the village were initially enlisted, but repeated refusals were hurled back at them despite promises of letting them pocket commissions by imposing entrance fees. After all, the Kafra girls were most defenceless of the lot.

Large white tents were spaced intermittently over the untrimmed grasses before the barricade. This allocated space was not accommodation to the squad, as far as Pay knew, since the hunters stayed put at the barracks at the Ministry House building. He did not know whether to laugh or to whine; it was sad to see Elite Hunters, supposedly _elite_, reduced to night guards. If this carried on, he swore he would not let this atrophy the rest of his life.

He pushed aside the flaps, and was surprised to find a blonde huntress sitting patiently with a teacup paused halfway to her lips. He had expected the fellow hunters that shared the tent.

"Elemire."

The huntress threw him a smile and continued looking at him over the rim of her cup. At least there was something to be happy about for the day. Removing his pouches at his waist, Pay set it on the table and bent to allow her to brush him a quick kiss. "You have something for me, I suppose?"

"Yes, my husband," Elemire said, watching the hunter eye the package on the table before him. She chuckled when she saw Pay flinch at what she had just labelled him. Pay bit his lower lip and took a seat beside her. "I thought we're supposed to keep it down? Careful someone heard that." Elemire laid a reassuring hand on his. "I didn't forget it. But don't worry over that. I'm ten drops sure that no one is here, my husband. By the way, the Peco-post sent this over from Prontera."

Pay ripped off the paper wrappings and there it was, an exquisite prize greeted him. A slick, dark red bow that looked very much like a Gakkung, except that it was strung from the bowstring extracted from his wasted Arbalest. A grin crossed his face almost immediately.

"So the gold is still number one," Pay mumbled.

"Couldn't have been anybody else but Yeven, am I not right? Only he can do something like that," the huntress added.

"I must try this. You will excuse me for a little while, yes?"

-

-

-

Pay slung his Gakkung over his shoulder and drew an Oridecon arrow from the quiver strapped to his back. _I knew Yeven wouldn't disappoint me!_

Dusk was on the verge of settling by the time he found a group of four willows as the "Guinea Pigs", right in the heart of the thick Payon forest. The immensely leafy environment proved to be suppressing, but he cared less. He fitted the arrow and was ready to shoot, but it did not leave his bow. Not just yet.

A loud thud had him jerking his head back. All he managed to see was someone in red top and blue leggings rolling downhill with something black jamming out from his thigh. Another figure, whom he immediately appraised as a rogue, stalked the rolling man purposefully. Pay lowered his bow and followed the commotion, but more to the rogue. The hunter's eyes went wide when his gaze settled on the still form that had stopped his descend. _Allen of House Drakand?_

The rogue was already standing ominously over the boy, knife in hand as far as Pay could see. There was no need to wait. The Oridecon arrow was already nocked to his brand new bow, and he let it fly to where he aimed, the arm. Pay swore. The timing couldn't have been worse. The rogue raised his dagger while it was in mid-flight, and Pay could only hope that it would at least distract him.

The arrow might have missed its spot, but it did graze the man's chest, drawing a thin red line. Pay stood watching as his second lanced through the air, but the wide eyed rogue was fast enough to expect it. It went sailing harmlessly over him, sawing a few strands of hair.

Pay had followed the Avenger long enough, and too, took part in enough guild wars to observe the idiosyncrasies of people belonging to certain class. Rogues were concerned more on self benefits and unlike their shadowy counterparts, assassins, they wrought open mischief. When there was surely no room for a feat, rogues would usually think better than to put up a fight.

The hunter took aim, but he held on to the fletching. That sent the rogue scrambling off into an overgrowth.

"I'll get you back to your father really fast, and I'll find you a priest. I doubt –"

A loud rustle accompanied by a familiar man hurling out of the overgrowth elicited a yelp from the boy. Pay had his bow up, a hand halfway to his quiver before he stopped to see the man dead. The rogue, that same one, must be dead, seeing a bolt buried precisely in the heart. It was an impressive yet deadly shot. It was unmistakable. Such powerful blows could only come from an equally powerful bow, if not the strongest one, the Ballista.

"Elemire? Is that you?" Pay called out, while his gaze darted about searchingly. There was another rustle, but no one came out. Not even after he gave it a minute's wait. "Allen, I'll carry you back right now. We need to remove that knife."

Deciding to put off the wait, the hunter dispatched Raven to scout the forest and ran the rest of the way back with the young archer on his back.


	8. Give it more!

**-6-**

It was ridiculous to climb back out of the trapdoor that was laid as square, glossy tiles above where Sagis stood. Letting out a harrumph, the dark-robed wizard found his departure through a low, wooden door where he would have noticed if he made an effort to look carefully. In fact it was not too far behind him.

Planting the butt of his arcane staff into the concrete with each step, the wizard sucked in his breath in surprise when a scaffold from above came crashing down. It didn't exactly _crash_, but the sounds of its descend did little to leave such an impression. Sagis would have expected the wooden platform to split upon contact with the concrete, but he quickly realised that it was a lift. An extremely poor one at that. Whoever helmed the construction and pioneered the idea of such hazardous contraptions would have been seriously condemned as an architect.

Sagis placed both foot onto the platform, and he wondered if it knew he was on board. He counted a slow ten counts, but it still remained stationary, until he stamped on it in frustration. A sharp jerk nearly sent him sprawling face first into the concrete, while he was lucky that he had his staff for support. The scaffold rose with irregular jerks, but he was glad that those were the lesser ones. He certainly did not appreciate all of it.

The brake was smooth at the least, and Sagis found himself in some unused workshop that he guessed was adjacent to where he had first entered the building with Cerberus. Most of all, he was thankful that he was out of the dust zone, despite that few sneezes there and then that had him tearing.

In the silence, only in it, he realised that he had been hearing soft hums coming from within him. It was disturbing to the head, and he fought to keep it at bay, only to fail miserably. It was still there even when he pressed both palms over his ears, air tight. _Name of the Dark Lord! What is happening to me?_

Inexplicably, he felt his neck growing increasingly warm. Sagis swore silently when he found himself layered with clothes, and he felt ready to strip down to his smallclothes. _So this is how it is…_

His fingers went running over the smooth material of the interlocked rings hung from his neck, and it sizzled. It was hot to the touch and he retracted his hand back almost in an instant. Afraid that it might sear a hole in his chest, he grabbed it by the chain and lowered it between the layers of clothes. _What is this supposed to mean? Even the two rings are malicious to me. Something bad has to be happening, even now._

The Staff of Soul was soothing to the touch. Somehow it ensured him that he would be safe, and nothing could come near him without suffering under the wrath of his amplified hodgepodge of spells. Surely there was nothing to force him onto the edge of doom…

As he had learned time and time again, the omen of the magical accessory could not be overlooked. It proved to be another lesson the moment he walked out into the sun-baked streets. The singed smell of a conflagration greeted him even from this distance; he did not need to see the billowing black smoke to the north to urge him into a run.

Along the way he felt it odd that most of the fleeing crowd belonged to the blacksmith community, if not the merchants too, rather than the civilians. That was something he found it difficult to fathom. Were their goods so precious to them that there was certainly no room for survival without it? He had to ask Yeven someday, although the man seemed to value his gold more. _You had better not ignore the omens, and you cannot run. _Now, where did that voice come from?

Sagis was too focused on his run to return to Smith's underground home of dust. Come to think of it, it was rather surprising that not one of those giant, dust-loving moths called Dustiness were lurking about. The scene of the flames was clearer to him now, now that there were lesser people. Sagis saw only a handful of people, still most of them being merchants, roughly sweeping their goods into their carts before breaking into a cart-race. He guessed that the civilians had already ran off to safety, otherwise he would have caught a scream somewhere.

The Emperium Bridge, a rather narrow deep blue bridge leading to the arena for the War of Emperium, was set ablaze, as did a few of the towers at the entrance of the revamped arena.

"Hey you! Stay back!"

Sagis snapped his head back to see a phalanx of eight city guards in burnished breastplates and cone-shaped helmets jabbing a finger at him and yelling for him to fall back. Of course, everything went unheeded. Ironically, the guards actually feared for him, while they themselves had no fire-fighting equipments. And Sagis did.

The heat enveloped him, and the wizard was hardly sure if it was his neck chain's antics or the fire itself. As if it was not vile enough, the interlocked rings had to add to the predicament. Sagis waved his Staff of Soul across the width of the bridge, as he allowed the sweet ecstasy of the weavings of magic course through his veins, pumping through his blood.

A row of icy, lanceolate pillars projected heavenwards when the words to the spell was finished, towering even the towers in the arena. The staff had certainly been a great amplifier as Sagis had thought. He controlled the fire, directing the ice walls in a tight square that ringed the blaze. That should act as the retardant in place of the towers, and obviously to minimize the speed of spreading. Sagis faced the guards again, very calmly and a raised eyebrow. "Stay back? And what would you have accomplished with your swords and bucklers? Let the fire melt them? I suggest you look for mages around the city rather than stoning behind my back, while I extinguish what I can."

Fumbling all over themselves, they appeared confused at first, but they tried their best to coordinate their course of action the briefest possible. Glad that he felt the eyes lifted off his back, he could concentrate on the task at hand. Extinguishing it all would be more than a feat. Moreover, he was just one wizard. One. He doubted if the rings and his staff would even lend him sufficient strength.

Sagis watched while trying his best to suppress his misgivings. The ice walls were fast liquefying into chilling pools, and he was not able to reiterate the chants. He was no Dark Lord after all. Thinking about the guards' confusion gave him trepidations. He would try, and decided to work on the towers first, since it was setting neighbouring buildings ablaze fast.

From the pools of water at the foot of the ice walls that were fast falling in chunks, Sagis conjured several water balls all at once and threw it over the first tower he picked out. The raging flames wavered and quelled considerably, but not the others. He took a desperate glance backwards that did nothing more than to demolish his hopes. The square was still empty. _There is definitely something more than those pathetic water balls, isn't it? Give it something more. Come on, MORE!_

The mysterious urges at the back of his head slowly but surely did prompt him forward. _This is it… I could try._

While he was not aware that he had lost half his senses, for some reason, Sagis took a few reluctant steps towards the bridge, and another, and another, until he was right in front of the first wave of flames. He saw black figures darting in and out of what seemed like the inside of the roaring mix of red and yellow. And then he saw faces. Faces that should have been recognised but he found it far from his grasp. _Is my memory failing me? Odin, what is this all about? What is that voice?_

He was standing in the middle of the bridge before he knew, and although fire surged all around him, he was not ignited –yet. _Come on! Give it more! MORE!_

_Oh yes. I came here to give it more. How did it go again…?_

A ring of chilling energy blasted in a wide radius, blasted from within him, the ring of frost nova killing every gout of flames, revealing a plane of blackened metal. It was not enough. He wanted to give it more. There was still the towers anyway.

Once again, he took a few reluctant steps into the inferno, into the stone towers. Water from the pools shot as high as the tower roofs, fountaining over it, drenching the flames. A great hiss rose as if all directions were crawling with Sidewinders, synchronising the noise. The twin rings flared as though in antithesis, one in blinding whiteness that looked ready to swallow the churning blackness of the other. Sagis felt achillean; he might even take on the Dark Lord single-handedly. _One down, two more to go._

Clasping the Staff of Soul so tight that his knuckles were drained of blood, Sagis staggered subconsciously into the second tower. The slabs of stone that were once flight of stairs tumbled all around him, but he was oblivious to it. He continued deeper like a runaway freight train, never stopping to so much as to catch a breath. Mimicking the incantations to the last spell, another blast of chilling nova expanded in a large circle to see the fires die down to curling wisps of smoke. _Two down, one more last tower to go._

_It's the same thing all over again. Come on, outlaw, give it something exciting. You can do more! _

The voices now sounded nothing short of a mockery, unlike what he had first heard. _Outlaw? I'm just living the life that I am… what do you mean outlaw…?_

Sagis was already standing at the base of the last tower that was burning mercilessly. That particular inferno looked every way wilder than the previous. Fierce as it was, it was serving as a blind impetus to double his input. At this point of time, he did not know what he was doing anymore. The wizard seemed more inclined to throw any of the advanced spells in his repertoire than to save the arena from burning to ashes. He _seriously_ did not realise what he was doing.

A trail of blackness zipped across a wall of fire blocking the foot of the spiralling stairway, and faded in a blink. No matter what it was, it looked like it needed attention. Thrusting the staff in a haphazard wave that looked every bit the way a child would have made a fool out of himself, the innocent looking taunt sent a sphere of crackling silver bolts ejecting from the crystal orb, erupting the flames into raging towers scorching heat. A half of a broken flight of stairs collided into his side, and he went flying into a tilting beam next. A vertigo overwhelmed him like he had downed a dozen blended herbs, on top of a few doses of strong potion.

Still feeling dazed, Sagis would have noticed that the hem of his black robe had caught fire if he looked down. If he still had any hint of senses retained, that is. A series of dry coughs began to wreck him inside out, and a mouthful of blood spilled down his chin. _Where have you gone? Don't leave me alone now. I'm giving it the most! I'm trying to! _

Refusing to give up, he waved the staff again for a long time, even gyrating it. But nothing came out. _My magic… what happened?_

He felt uncomfortably hot. Not superficially, but internally. It had to be the rings again, he knew. He could no longer feel his skin burning anymore. He was so hot, so hot that he wanted to detonate into ichor and bones. He could take it no more. He screamed silently as he gave in to his sagging knees, witnessing once more the dark trails that were no more in a blink. At the next blink though, Sagis never opened his eyes. He let the flames consume him whole.


	9. Burned and haunted

-7-

"_We used to blast the Savage Babes with a fire ball or two, do you remember that?" the trail of blackness spoke. "I actually spent the entire month correcting your aim, can you believe it?"_

_What? Did that thing actually talk? What in the name of the Dark Lord is happening?_

_The wizard in black seemed to have no recollection of what he had just done. Etched deep in mind, the blackness was the only object he could recognise. He was not sure if it even was an object in the first place. It could all be an illusion on his part. Wiping his sweaty palms on his robe, he studied the swirling waves of blue and red around him. It reminded him of a storm of icy fire, but of course, it was too pictorial to be realistic. He did not even feel any of the two extremes. _

"_Savage Babes? You are saying…?"_

_A voice came from within the distinctive cloud of blackness billowing in the surrounding. It sounded close to a deep chuckle, yet the wizard was still ill at ease. What is a Savage Babe? _

_The wizard clad in black robes suddenly felt empty. To be exact, his hands were empty. He felt around him desperately, even reaching behind his back, but grabbed air. The Staff of Soul was gone, so did the faint coursing of magic in his blood. Once again, he felt like he was a novice all over again. He would definitely make it a point to cherish every single bit of it, if he could seize it back somehow. Right now, it seemed as if everything that he lost lay in the mastermind behind the voice. _

"_It would help to identify yourself, whoever you are. This is but a childish game," the black wizard said, so calmly that he surprised even himself. The mastermind had to be quite a somebody; stripping him of his magic was a big feat. The intense combustion around him began to give him an oppressive sensation. What on Rune-Midgart is this place? I've never seen any place so rich in colour other than the Lutie Christmas House._

"_It doesn't need to be so fanciful in colour, Sagis. It's all in the mind." The area shifted to a gloomy greyish-black, second to a sky during a tempest. The black wizard barely stopped himself from drawing a sudden breath. First, he lost his magic to that hide-and-seek host, and now, he was not able to confine his thoughts to himself. Naked was the word that summarised everything that he was feeling. Never in his life he felt so defenceless. Hours seemed to have passed, yet he failed to unravel anything from this virtual chaos. _

_For a moment he managed to notice some viscous fluid oozing from his robes, despite the spinning in his head and the darkening swirl. He dipped a finger on the thick wetness and realised sullenly that it was fresh blood. It did not come from him, he knew. There was no gaping wound on his torso, as far as he knew. Nothing here was tangible, much less making sense. "Wha -"_

"_Blood of your nation, Sagis. And the blood of the dead, too. People are dying fast, and for me I wouldn't care less if it is a renegade or not. We need salvation," the voice spoke out. It was hard to determine if it was a plea or a demand. It was devoid of any emotion. _

_The questions to ask were aplenty, in fact, so many that he could not remember the previous few he intended. He wanted to know how the mastermind knew his name. He wanted to know the face behind the voice. He wanted to know if he could get his magic back. Most of all, he wanted to know what each sentence meant. To his band of guild mates, his head contained a great many things. Usually, he knew things that they hardly understood, and they respected him. Apparently, that was not the case now. If he knew anything, it was running away from here in one piece._

_Running away… in one piece. _

"_Do not forget this, Sagis. I do hope you don't take on the perspective of what you're branded as. Don't forget your origins and leave the three hundred year legacy ruined like the god-forsaken rubble that it is. Remember that, son of Djorekthelas." The voice faded, as did the black cloud. This could be the chance…_

_The darkness flared into the blinding mix of blue and red before, but this time he felt the alternating heat and chill of it. He screamed silently as it engulfed him…_

_- - -_

Reality solidified through hazy stages, revealing a bearded face creased with worry. Murmurs broke the silence the moment he opened his eyes, and he only managed to catch abridged versions of the conversation. The place he lay in had not registered on him yet.

"You're up, finally," the voice behind the bearded man sounded clear and articulate beside him. _I'm up? How long was I out and what just happened? My magic!_

"Stay down, Sagis. You're still under observation. I cannot believe I was still having a chat with Smith while you tried to kill yourself in the fire!" the bearded man added. All past events seemed to compress into his mind all at once, replaying in his head in second-quick flashes. The fire incident stood out among the rest, that being the closest shave with death. Behind it, the strange blackness perturbed him no little. That _thing_ was living and breathing.

"Mister Wizard! We saw it –"

A brief flash of fire erupted before the speaker's face, eliciting a strangled yelp and a crash into the equipment stand. _My magic! It is still intact!_

Shouts exploded in all directions, nearly putting him back into oblivion. The throbbing in his head aggravated to the extent that he had to put pressure on his temples. "Ugh! Cerberus! Silence them… silence them!"

Sagis had not the faintest idea how he knew, but somehow the bearded face brought some recognition at the final moment. He was not sure if the fire damaged his brains as well.

"Just a little while longer and I'll get the acolyte," the knight said with surety. Sagis heard the knight holler at the disruptive group, who were still all over the man's seared face, so he claimed. Cerberus grimaced at the man who dressed like one of those news mongers roaming around town for the latest tabloids. There was not even a slight hint of blackened skin. News mongers were sure to exaggerate things, aside from their reports.

"Now there's something to write on! He burned my face!"

"Look, I need some words from the wizard! I was told that he handled the fire all by himself and tried to kill himself in it!"

"I saw him raise the ice walls myself. If you would let me conduct…"

"You're Cerberus, am I correct? Why would your friend commit suicide?"

"Come on! My colleague's got a blast right in the face! We need a shot on this!"

It all ended with a resounding "Be gone!" from the knight. The group stood staring at him with gaping mouths, their hearts almost on their tongue tips. Even the "burned" man dropped the act with an assuring hand meaning that he would depart immediately.

Cerberus waited for a long while to make sure they did not mingle outside the infirmary. The wizard beside him was still imbibing water voraciously, producing gurgling noises with each swallow. Resting his removed helm and his twin swords on a stand, Cerberus eyed the wizard darkly. "Tell me, you didn't happen to see an Izludean, did you? You may be well versed in sorcery, and if you haven't realised, the scope of this is definitely going to expose yourself, if there _was_ one."

Sagis set the mug down and stared straight out to the wall before him. One look would determine that he did not owe the knight any explanation, but this was not the time. He ought to tell his companion something, at least something about the voice. If anything, his thoughts were bothering him enough to look like he was miles away. "Izludeans? Perhaps so. Pranks? Perhaps so too. I need to return to where I came from, Cerberus. The voice was real, and it would seem that something bad is befalling me the moment I defied." Cerberus's countenance took for a change, one of incomprehensiveness. "Voice? What is this all about, returning to where you belong? Have you indeed seen someone?"

"Don't give me that look, knight. I'm just as confused myself," Sagis said, finally turning to face Cerberus. "I have absolutely zero knowledge on this, you know that? I doubt I will be staying here any longer than I should, knight. Oh yes, the acolyte?" Cerberus stood up suddenly, forgetting that he was to fetch one. "No, knight. I meant, what did she say?"

Hands on his hips, Cerberus half turned to the wizard. "She insisted that you remain here for the rest of the week. The fire burned you good, Sagis. If it wasn't for the city guards and the mages…"

"Rest of the week! I'm not lying around this sickening potion smelling room till then, letting him haunt me! Tomorrow, at the most. I am not letting some girl force me in here –"

"Listen! Even in here, those mouth-running news mongers were relentless. Trouble never diminishes, Sagis," Cerberus blasted in exasperation. "Prontera is not safe anymore."

Sagis sat on his bed, and for the first time, he realised that his wizard robes had been replaced. He thought it must had been burned whole in the fire, while it was surprising that he did not end up the same way.

_Prontera is not safe anymore…_

"Then this is war?"

Cerberus nodded slowly, as though unwilling to assimilate this piece of news. Ironically, the holy city had not been at all safe in the first place. If it was, the defenders would not have been at the frontlines time after time. He hardly understood what was it that the occasional invaders sought. "The city guards returned after you were sent to the infirmary, and by the time the mages extinguished the fire it wasn't so difficult to discover an iron cain."

"And?"

"And merchants are saying that it was strange to have seen a few lurkers at the arena when there was no Emperium War going on. No one goes into the arena unauthorised."

There was little musing before the wizard spoke up. "Your brother is a bane to the alliance, knight. As far as I know, the two cities never had stranded ties until today. I've only to say that it's a premonition. With the hundred year alliance broken, you might as well have opened Pandora's Box." Sagis could see that his knight companion did not look too happy about it, which was very much expected. Who would smile in the face of danger?

"Leave me, knight. We've got our own wars to fight, and I need all the rest I get, or I'll be suffocated by the mind games alone."

Cerberus nodded in compliance, then donned his gears once again. Both men looked up when an acolyte made her way silently into the ward with a tray full of potion bottles. As if afraid that her unsteady hands might fault, she moved gingerly to the foot of Sagis's bed and set down a bottle of greenish mix. Eyeing the wizard's arcane staff in the corner warily, she gave a slight bow and left the room.

"I've had doubts when you said you had to 'return to where you came from'. The news mongers are saying that it is reconstructed and reinforced once again, but did you mean Geffen?" asked Cerberus, while strapping his swords to his back.

"I'll know when the time comes, knight," came the swift reply. Sagis heard the fading _clank_ of greaves against the marble flooring as the knight left, as he sloshed down the potion with a sour look. Registration came at a slow pace, but it did send his heart racing. _Geffen… it's starting to make sense now._

That had set him pondering, not about the voice this time, but rather on the knight. Sometimes, just sometimes, he thought that Cerberus was no leader of Avenger for nothing.


	10. The couple

-8-

For one thing, Pay was glad that the rogue was dead. That had spared him the running. To say that the hunter was a poor runner was not the case, in fact, he was trained to outrun the quickest of foes. Hunters… even they were a match to the upper echelon of Thief classes, if not better. Assassins were known for their cloaking abilities, and rogues for their hiding. They hardly raced with their adversaries.

Merely because Allen's life was at stake, Pay made sure Allen was safe even if it cost him a limb. Yes, even if an army of Abysmal Knights were hot on their heels, he would run with the young man on the back to safety with utmost haste. Pay knew his father. Drakand Senior had been his supplier for as long as he had been in the class of Archery, dealing him with the great range of arrows, bows and the like. Of course, for such a loyal patron, it would be a joke if Pay was not granted discounts.

"My boy thinks he's something, y'know? Something, only at eleven! Bah, I guess it won't hurt though. Its just a matter of time before he goes out to see the world. It'd be good for him to start giving a little something to the family business!"

The conversation between him and Allen's father was still fresh. It had been more than a couple of hours since he conversed with him, discussing what would become of the young archer ten, or eleven years down the road. "A fine hunter," was what he had simply said. Though he had business at hand, he promised the senior of House Drakand that he would keep a lookout for Allen if he could afford the time, and there he was, preserving him for the role of a "fine hunter" in the nick of time.

The rogue's identity remained a mystery, so was the abrupt shot of the bolt. The stout, deadly projectile buried deep in that man's heart was a revolting sight; Pay, unfortunately, had the image etched in his mind. He remembered he could see the whites. _Bones_, he thought.

It came from a bow, to say it was powerful, was nothing short of an understatement. Such supreme weapon can only be the Ballista. _The Ballista… Elemire's choice of weapon. _

Pay felt the young archer stirring, and then gasped. "It's just me. We're nearing home," Pay said.

"The… that rogue! Wh- what happened? Haven't I been killed?" Allen said with hints of both fear and apprehension.

"We'll have your injuries treated first. I fear you may have been poisoned, from the wound on your knee."

The hunter sped down the Payon bridge, with Allen bobbing furiously on his back. Weak sunlight from the lazy afternoon bathed the village which was lined with rows of tile-roofed houses. Traditions were greatly observed, certainly. The look of both residents and residential was sufficient for a prompt. Sitting in the middle of a lush, green forest which seemed to stretch on without so much a boundary, Payon was the place for everyone and anyone keen in the art of range battle. This same village was the largest trader of bows and arrows in the entire Rune-Midgard, besides, tea was well heard of across the world. It was a heritage it seemed, the appreciation of Payonese tea. More often than not, apprentices were seen scattered in the woods, keeping a sharp eye for crisp, fragrant tea leaves found on certain plantations.

The people were a conservative bunch. And that had taught children a thing or two about passive rebellion, thanks to confines. Dressed in simple Payonese tunic and sandals-to cool their feet in the all year round summer- when not in battle, they had a sharp eye for anything at all. It was their basic ability, trained as the prerequisites for the advanced skills with the bow. In short, they had better visionary capabilities than any of the miscellaneous classes.

Pay sighted Drakand Senior easily. The town was rather quiet, most archers being out of town for training at such a time. Even if there was a bazaar, he could see the ageing man nonetheless. He was either at his workshop, or inside his weapon store.

"Mister Drakand! Your son!"

The man of fifty-five years of age jerked his head up with a startled look. It did not leave his countenance, especially since the sight of his son registered on him. He dropped the bunch of Choco feathers meant for the fletchings, and ran over. "Allen! Odin bless him! What in the world happened?"

Pay stopped him. "I'm sorry, Mister Drakand. We have to bring him into the house to treat his knee. You have to fetch the town acolytes! Please, make haste!"

"I know just the person in this line. I'll run to him immediately!" Drakand Senior spurted with utmost urgency.

The elder turned to leave, and met with three figures standing in his way. A young woman stood before him, a giant bow with slick golden finish hanging on her back, with two men dressed in white robe trailing behind. She looked as fine a huntress can be, and battle-worthy as well, with her weapon that promised nothing but blood and death.

"You don't have to look like that, you know? We've seen each other more than once, I believe? I brought the acolytes," she said rather frivolously.

Drakand Senior swallowed with slight embarrassment. "Elemire? I didn't expect you. How did you know about this? This is as far as I can offer my thanks, but my son –"

The huntress led the pair of acolytes past the de facto of the house and into where Pay had laid the young archer. Pay looked just as startled as Drakand Senior when he saw his newly wedded wife. "Elemire? How…"

"We'll talk when we return to our lodging. Isn't it better if we let them do their job in peace, my dear? It is rude to impose on his father too, you know?" she frowned at the hunter.

Before Pay could think of a retort, she led him by the hand out to where Drakand Senior's workshop was. Pay noticed the worry-creased face of the elder, and at that moment he felt it incumbent to relate the harrow. He put a hand on him and squeezed his shoulder. "Surely I did remember what you asked of me. Keep a lookout for him when he's left for ore hunting, and thank Odin I kept my word. Or else, the anonymous rogue would have knifed him dead."

Pay saw the various expressions of shock and seething anger throughout the relation of the rogue and his sudden demise while he saved the young archer. The macabre wound was still fresh in his mind, but he spared the details. Drakand Senior was devastated sufficiently. His main concern was for Allen's mobility after the operation. Pay had taken great effort to play down the injury and assured him the best of condition for Allen.

"The bad do get tangled up in karma. How true!" the elder was heard mumbling, after he offered incessant words of appreciation for the couple's help.

The two returned to the camp of the Elite Hunter, and into the tent where Pay had been spending the past few nights. It was empty, just as the way it was before the rescue mission. As far as he knew, his two fellow comrades who shared the hardly spacious tent were assigned for one of the busiest of duties. In the day at least, but they made themselves so during dark, when they drank long into the night at the Night Star inn with the barmaids. As a result, Pay was passively made responsible for getting them back and sobered up for the next day.

Somehow, he was just glad. He wished they would not return so soon. It was one of those private moments with the huntress, but ironically, he was all business. He wanted to ask her about the rogue, and that ambushed attack. Looking at his new Gakkung appreciatively, he set it aside, and turned his attention to his wife.

"You probably know what I'm about to ask."

Elemire seemed oblivious to her husband's question while she finished the half drank cup of tea. Her sigh that came after that was more of a feigned exasperation rather than from tea appreciation. "You're working round the clock, my dear. We have hardly any time together since our marriage. And look at this! Such a rare opportunity turned into a business conversation!"

From the none too happy look of the huntress, Pay knew he was forced into submission. It was a lethal weapon, indeed. "Do you not think it pains me not to offer you ample companionship since the day we wedded? To be honest, why am I still being looked upon as a child? You know it too. Our marriage is still unknown to my mother. How I wish I could leave with my guild as secretly as our affair was!"

The huntress's look was visibly softened, from the previously passive look. It did not take long for her to react. Moving next to Pay, she put her arms around him. "I know, my husband, all too well. Consider this. Nobody can force you into anything, not even your own mother. A grown man is disposed to do whatever he wants to, with every possible authority."

"Authority? I doubt I ever had the ownership of it, and probably never will. Blame it on the traditions if you want to," Pay said as he began emptying his cup of light greenish brew. Payonese tea, how bounded was he. "No, you'd not be a man if you abandon your responsibilities. Mine was created from the horrors of the war with Moonlight Flower, and I've pledged to defend this village."

"Are you really sure that is the best option for you? It is not possible for you to forget about the Avengers just like that. Certainly you're not cut out for this!"

"They will understand," Pay spoke after a moment of deep thought. "I'm quite sure they will. I will not run off like a sell-out, certainly not when you're here. Leaving you alone will be the last thing I do."

Elemire smiled at him for a while and slipped her hand into his. "Of course you wouldn't. Now, that's what I'm talking about. Let's leave the rest of your queries for next time."

It was Pay's turn for a wide smile, and he was still fervently hoping his comrades were still far out at their post. He suddenly wished that he was out of the Elite Hunter Squad, out of Payon, to have such moments. Just somewhere out there…


End file.
